Jumping the Gun
by A Green Being
Summary: What ever happened between Terry and Jimmy? Complete, with epilogue.
1. Chapter 1

**Jumping the Gun**

**Chapter One**

It had only been three years, but Jimmy'd been his best friend. Terry'd never felt that close to any of his friends before. New York was a big place, but Jimmy'd made it seem smaller, more hospitable.

Terry'd been the rookie detective, assigned to be Jimmy's partner. Detective Jim Dunbar, his superior at the 77. Even though they were partners, it was obvious Jim was the one in charge. He knew what he was doing, had to show Terry the ropes.

The lieutenant, Frank Schumacher, had left Terry in his office, shut the door. Terry'd watched out the window while Schumacher went up to a detective who'd been laughing with a couple other guys, perched on the corner of a desk, gesturing with his hands. He'd stood when Schumacher came up, the other two guys had quickly walked away, looking busy and purposeful as Terry just stood there feeling awkward and useless, but nervous like a caged tiger. The detective glanced over at the office while they talked, cocked his head, nodded, lifted an arm and waved. Terry hadn't been able to wave back.

He blinked, the door opened, and Schumacher and the guy stood there.

"Jim Dunbar, Terry Jansen, your new partner," Schumacher said.

Terry looked down at Jim, a little shorter and less bulky than himself. He still had a small smile on his face from laughing with the other guys.

"How's it goin'?" he asked and stuck out his hand, keeping eye contact with Terry.

Terry swallowed hard. He looked down at the hand. This was going to be his partner, he had to make a good impression. Finally he took it, shook it, sweat breaking out on his forehead. He swallowed again. "Good," he said.

"Good." Jim clapped a hand against the side of his shoulder. "Lemme show you around, I'll introduce you to the guys." He opened the door to the office and let Terry go out before him, turned back to the lieutenant and nodded. Terry followed him around the squad. "So… Detective Jansen, congratulations."

Terry nodded.

"It's a good feeling, isn't it? Making detective?"

Terry nodded again.

"You're gonna have to say something sometime. At least, first time we get a perp in custody, you know?"

Terry nodded, opened his mouth and tried to say something, but just stood there dumbly, nodding.

Jim laughed. "Come on."

"Jimmy! Who've they got you wet-nursing now?" The guy was big, hulking, easily six-five and 350 pounds. Terry felt dwarfed, didn't know how Jim didn't.

"Terry Jansen, his first day, I think he's a little overwhelmed. Terry, this is Doug Bergan. Don't mess with him."

Terry nodded.

"Cat got your tongue?" Doug asked.

"Heya, dog," a guy said, coming up behind Terry, clapping a hand on his shoulder so hard Terry's knees bent under the strain. "Jimmy, you got a minute? Let's drop your partner off at the daycare and go check this out."

"Terry can come. I'll keep an eye on him."

"You sure?"

"Terry, this is Gabe. Yeah, I'm sure. I'll make sure he doesn't screw anything up."

"I'm not—" Terry started, but cut himself off when Jim turned to him with a mischievous look in his blue eyes.

Jim nodded. "Yeah, chances are you won't be able to say anything anyway, right?"

"Doug and I are headed over, see you in a few?"

"Yup, we'll probably beat you there."

"No you wo—"

Jim laughed. "I had to box you in. You're not going anywhere 'til I move the squad car."

Gabe pushed Jim playfully, but hard enough Jim had to step back, still laughing. "What'd you do that for?"

"You parked in my spot. Don't let it happen again." Jim pushed Terry off in front of him down the hall.

"So, you married?" Jim asked as he drove, weaving in and out of traffic with finesse.

Terry shifted in the passenger seat. "Yeah. About three months now."

"I've been married a year myself. Finally got roped in, had to break myself of those bad habits. What's your wife's name?"

"Annie. I've known her since high school, actually."

"A high school sweetheart?" Jim glanced over. "That's kinda cutesy, ain't it?"

"Uh…"

"I'm just messin' with ya."

Jim ordered Terry around at the crime scene, but Terry just took it and hung his head when he overlooked evidence that Jim pointed out. "You gotta learn to hold your own. We provide back-up for each other, we watch each other's backs, but—you can't rely on me for everything, got it?" Jim walked away down the hall of the old apartment. Terry just stood there and stared. Jim had left him in the room alone, a bedroom with a bed, no sheets, dresser drawers overturned, mattress askew, broken glass everywhere. Terry looked over his shoulder, then turned the other way, searching. He was sure Jim had left him there on purpose, there was something about the crime scene he should be noticing. He knew Jim had noticed something, probably something obvious, probably already knew who'd killed the girl who'd already been hauled off to get her autopsy.

Terry made sure his rubber gloves were in place before he touched anything, carefully prodding around.

Twenty minutes later he emerged, his heart in his shoes. Jim was lounging on the couch, his arms flung across the back, one ankle over his knee. "Well?"

Terry shook his head.

Jim got up, pulled his gloves back on. "Look at the whole picture. You're too intent on the little things." He made Terry stop in the doorway. "They were looking for something, right? Everything's a mess. The pictures are crooked, the drawers are all dumped."

"Yeah. So?" Terry saw all that, saw the disarray, had looked through everything, examined every piece of evidence.

"So that mirror on the wall over the dresser, why isn't it crooked? If everything else has been ransacked, why'd they leave that piece?"

Terry looked at Jim, who didn't move. He finally crossed to the mirror, careful not to step on anything, pushed the mirror just to the side, sliding it on the wire: a hole in the wall. "What was back there?"

Jim shrugged. "We gotta find that out, don't we?"

"You already know?"

"Nope. Let's head back." Jim snapped his gloves off and tossed them in the trashcan on the way out.

"Maybe you were thinking too much," Jim said as he parked at the precinct and got out.

Jim rode him for months like that, always pointing out what Terry didn't find, never what he did, never praising him, but always offering suggestions on different ways for Terry to think, to go about his job.

Terry hung back until Jim caught him in the locker room one day. "The guys are headed out for a beer. You comin'?"

"Uh…"

"Yeah, you're invited. Come on." Jim left the room without waiting for an answer.

Jim Dunbar was self-assured even off the job. He was The Man in the bar, holding the other detectives together, giving them shit, turning his shit on Terry, too, until the guys all laughed at him. Terry's face turned red as they heard how he'd tripped over a dead cat at the last crime scene, having been too busy staring at the human body to notice it. He'd gone headfirst across the room, not stopping until his hands hit the wall, dislodging the curtain rods and exposing the missing slug. At the time Jim had laughed, but clapped him on the back and said, "Good job." Now he was regaling the other detectives with the story until one of them cried out to stop before he pissed himself.

"Good job," Doug said, then bought a shot for Terry. "You've finally learned the value of dumb luck, huh?"

"He still needs to learn to watch himself, but at least the luck is kicking in," Jim said with a grin. He raised his beer bottle in a salute.


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter Two**

Jimmy hung up the phone and leaned back in his chair with a sigh.

"Trouble at home?" Terry asked, glancing over from his own desk.

"Nah. She's just making me go to the dentist."

"Oh." Terry leaned back. "Yeah, I need to go, too."

"You wanna come?" Jimmy looked momentarily hopeful, then the look passed and he laughed.

"Sure," Terry said, "why not."

"Really?"

"Yeah. We might as well both get it out of the way, right?"

Jimmy laughed, his head back a little. "Now this is what partners are supposed to be like." He tore off a post-it note and wrote down a phone number. "Christie made me an appointment Thursday morning. If they can't get you in then, I'll call and change my appointment."

Gabe walked up as soon as Terry picked up the phone. "Did I hear that right?" he asked Jimmy. "You two really going to the dentist together?"

"Yeah," Jimmy said, "you got a problem with that?"

Gabe chuckled. "It's just so… cute. You do realize that seems wrong?"

Terry gestured with the ringing phone. "You wanna come, too? I can see if they can get us all in."

"No!" Gabe said, backing away.

Jimmy raised his eyebrows, grinning. Terry grinned back.

"Hey, I'm not scared or nothin'. No reason to be looking like that."

"'Course not," Jimmy said.

"Fine, I'll come," Gabe said. "Don't say I never did anything with you."

"It's not exactly a party…"

Jimmy'd been right, it wasn't exactly a party. Terry didn't particularly like the dentist, but he went regularly enough. Gabe, it seemed, was actually terrified and only came so he could have back-up.

"This was a good idea, all three of us coming," Gabe said quietly as he stared wide-eyed around the room.

"The boss thinks we're up to something," Jimmy said. "I ran into him on the way out the door. He didn't understand why it took three of us to go to the dentist."

"We're watching each other's backs, right?" Gabe said.

Shortly they were all called into respective cubicles for their exams. Terry finished first with a clean bill of health and sat back in the waiting room reading old magazines and whistling occasionally.

Jimmy came out, rubbing his jaw.

"You okay?" Terry asked.

"I'll live."

Gabe came slinking out shortly behind, looking woozy.

"What'd they give you?" Jimmy asked. "Morphine? Heroin?"

Gabe shivered. "I wish. What's he doing out here so soon?" He gestured at Terry.

Terry threw down the magazine and stood. "Ready?"

"What's that?" Jimmy asked, looking at Terry's lapel. "A tooth sticker?"

Terry proudly displayed the smiling tooth for the other two detectives.

"Hey!" Gabe said to the receptionist, "why's he get a sticker and we don't?"

"Because he didn't have any cavities," she replied matter-of-factly, not looking up from her clip-board.

Gabe sneered at Terry. "Such a good boy, aren't you? You floss after every meal, too? Help old ladies cross the street?"

Terry held the door open for the other detectives. "I was an Eagle Scout. And my dad was a dentist."

"You've been flossing since you only had one tooth, right?" Jimmy asked.

"I really hope I get to beat up a dentist someday," Gabe muttered.

"Come on, guys. The dental assistants do all the dirty work," Terry said.

"Stop whining, Jansen," Gabe said with a glare. "You go sit in the corner with your little sticker when we get back to the squad."

"You okay?" Jimmy asked in the car as they drove back to the squad.

"I'm sorry I didn't have any cavities," Terry replied.


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter Three**

There was a knock on the door. Terry hurried to stash a few odds and ends behind the couch. Annie waddled over toward the door. She was getting big for such a little lady. Terry almost felt bad for her, having to carry the kid full-term.

"Jimmy!" she said happily. "Hon, look who's here."

Terry looked up as Jimmy sidled into the room, his hand out-stretched. "Annie, you look like you're going to pop."

"Jimmy," Terry admonished.

Jimmy laughed. "Well, she does, doesn't she? Can you even get your full reflection in a mirror anymore?"

Annie laughed. "I'm going to go lie down, you boys stay quiet."

"Annie," Jimmy admonished, "we carry guns. We drive cars."

"Like I said, boys. Grown men outgrow things like guns."

"Never," Terry said. "Hey, Jimmy, have a seat."

Jimmy looked around the room as Annie shuffled off to the bedroom. The apartment was small, much smaller than Jimmy's. Terry had only invited Jimmy over a couple times and every time he was acutely aware of the difference in their places. But Jimmy always plopped comfortably on the sofa like it was no different than his own home.

"You want a beer?" Terry asked.

"Yeah, that'd be great." He shrugged out of his trench coat and flung it over the recliner, then settled back on the couch.

Terry hurried to the kitchen, nervous suddenly.

"What channel's the game on?" Jimmy called from the living room, fiddling with the old TV.

"The paper's on the floor, I think. By the couch?" Terry grabbed the bottle opener in one hand, two beers in the other. "Do you see it?"

Jimmy had it in hand by the time Terry got back. He was sitting on the floor, on the worn old carpet.

"We have chairs," Terry joked.

Jimmy kept flipping through the TV section, not looking up. "You don't have a remote," he joked back.

"I'll work on that, but with the kid coming…"

"Don't worry about it—it would just be one more thing for the kid to chew on, anyway."

"You and Christie ever think of having kids?"

Jimmy shrugged. "Not really. I mean, once she brought up the fact that she was glad she didn't have any. She didn't go into details."

"She like kids?"

"I dunno. She's not a kid-person, you know. She doesn't go all gaga over babies or anything. She just stares at them… I don't think she'd be a pleasant pregnant woman, either. She really likes having all the guys stare at her for being beautiful."

"But that's okay, right? Or did you want kids?"

"I never really thought about it." Jim reached up and flipped through the channels, turning the dial until it clicked.

"D'you ask him yet?" Annie yelled down the hall.

"Getting' there!" Terry yelled back.

Jimmy laughed. "I thought she wanted us to keep it quiet?"

Terry laughed. "She doesn't sleep much anymore. The baby keeps kicking. I guess it doesn't need to sleep or something."

"Ask me what?"

"Well… You and I, we've been working together a year, right?"

"Right."

"And we're friends, right?"

Jimmy shrugged. "Yeah."

"Would you, you know, be our baby's godfather?"

"Me?" Jim sat up straighter, dropping the paper on the floor. He grabbed at it as it fell, spilling pages everywhere in his haste. "Me?" he asked again.

"Yeah, you, Jimmy."

"Me?"

Terry laughed.

Jimmy joined him. "I, uh, don't know what to say. I'm flattered, really." He stared up at Terry.

Terry sat quickly on the couch, not liking to tower over Jimmy like that. "Well?"

"Sure, why not." Jimmy stood up and flopped onto the couch next to Terry, grabbing one of the beers from his hand. "Just don't go getting shot on me, okay?"

"Right."

Jimmy stared at him a moment. "I can't believe you're having a kid," he said quietly. "It seems so grown-up."

"We're old married guys, Jimmy. You're not careful, you'll end up with a kid, too, you know."

"I'll watch your back, Terry, believe me. I don't think I'm ready to end up with a kid, yours or mine."

"Get a dog," Terry said. "You can practice."

Jimmy laughed. "Christie hates dogs."

"You ask him yet?" Annie yelled.

"Yeah!" Terry yelled back.

"What'd he say?"

"Yes, Annie, I said yes!" Jimmy yelled. He turned to Terry. "You guys need an intercom."

"What for? Sound carries really well in here."


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter Four**

Terry was lying in bed listening to the wind ravage the world outside. He could hear trash blowing down the street, a car alarm somewhere went off. Then his beeper. Stormy nights were usually a bad time for homicides.

"What's going on?" Annie asked sleepily.

"Nothing." Terry sat up and reached for his pants on the chair next to the bed as he hung up the phone. It was two in the morning. "Go to sleep."

"Hurry back," she said.

Terry hurried out, almost forgetting his gun and badge in his haste.

Jimmy picked him up, looking haggard. "Why don't you look as bad as I feel?" he asked.

"Because I couldn't sleep. I'm a bit of an insomniac sometimes."

Jimmy yawned. "More power to you. What's the address again?"

They pulled up in front of a run-down apartment building. "Middle of the night, I wish it was a swankier place," Terry said as they got out of the car. The wind tore at his overcoat as they hurried for the door.

"I bet they don't even have heat," Jimmy said, his teeth chattering, but he looked more awake than he had.

"You're getting soft, Jimmy."

"You're lucky I'm dressed." They ran up the stairs to the apartment, Doug and Gabe waiting for them. There were officers on the stairs one floor up.

Gabe pointed. "Body's up there. This apartment was open and empty, we're guessing the DOA lives here, but he had no ID on him."

"None?" Terry asked.

"You don't carry much when you sleep in the nude," Doug said.

Terry followed Jimmy up the stairs to look at the body and talk to a couple officers, then they headed back to the apartment to look it over.

"Found a couple pictures," Doug said. "DOA lives here."

The place smelled strongly of stale cigarette smoke. Terry sidestepped as a mouse skittered by his feet. The wind was still rattling at the windows, the main door to the building blew open. It started pouring.

"Let's be thorough," Jimmy said.

Terry nodded and they spread out.

"Hey!" Jimmy called a minute later. "Got a locked cupboard here. It was hidden behind this old roaster. Help me move it, huh?"

Terry hurried into the kitchen and helped Jimmy hoist down an industrial-sized spit.

"We can have a hog-roast after we clear the case, how's that?" Jimmy asked. He turned to look at the various latches on the cupboard and the lights went out. Jimmy swore.

Terry leaned forward as Jimmy fumbled with the latches and a rusted lock.

"Get me something to knock this lock off with, will you?"

"I bet it'll be filled with rats," Gabe said, coming up behind as Terry slowly searched the drawers.

"Here's a screwdriver."

"No hammer?"

"None." Terry handed over the screwdriver in the next burst of lightning. The apartment was dimly lit in the occasional lightning and from the residual glow of the rest of the city, but it wasn't enough to see more than vague shapes. Terry listened as Jimmy pounded the lock with the butt of the screwdriver, heard it crack but not give. Jimmy pried the lock, using the tool as a crowbar until it snapped the old padlock, sending pieces flying. Jimmy swore. "You okay?"

"I'm due for my tetanus shot anyway."

Terry listened as Jimmy fumbled with the rest of the hooks and latches.

"Does anyone have any light?"

"I quit smoking two months ago," Doug said. "You want me to start again?"

"ASAP." Jimmy banged the metal cupboard. "Got it," he said triumphantly. The lights came back on. Jimmy looked up at the ceiling. "That was so not fair." He pried open the seldom-used door.

"Rats?" Gabe asked hopefully.

"Rats wouldn't fit, dope," Doug said, thumping his partner on the arm.

"A whole hell of a lot of cellophane," Jimmy said with a laugh, pulling out roll after roll. "Two year's supply, at least."

"We should wrap it up for the white elephant exchange for Christmas," Doug said.

Jimmy searched the cupboard, pulling himself onto the counter to look up top. "Nothing. Good for smothering people, but that's about it. And since we haven't had a serial killer suffocating anyone, we got nothing."

Gabe poked his head back in from the living room. "Looks like he makes plaster of Paris sculptures of body parts."

"So why'd he lock up his art supplies?"

Gabe started whistling "People are Strange" and Jimmy joined in as they searched the rest of the apartment.

The power went out again.

"Terry?" Jimmy called.

"Yeah." He walked down the hall carefully in the dark.

"Let's call it a night. We won't get nothing done if the lights keep going out like this."

Terry felt Jimmy bump into him, move him aside, then continue down the hall. There was a thump and Jimmy swore, but didn't slacken his pace. "Watch the table," he called back.

Terry followed, slowly feeling in front of him before making each step.


	5. Chapter 5

**Chapter Five**

"You and your wife wanna come out with me and Annie Friday?" Terry asked. They were walking into an arena full of karate champs and fans, but they weren't there for fun.

Jimmy shook his head, scanning the sidelines. "Christie has a dinner."

"Another one?"

"Always." He kept his eyes on the crowd. Lately, every time he mentioned Christie, his face got pale and drawn, he looked sick.

"Everything okay?" It seemed to Terry that Christie was always busy when it came down to doing things with her husband and his partner. She almost never made it to police functions. Even though Terry'd been partnered up with Jimmy for almost two years now, he'd only met Christie a handful of times, and she never stayed long. Beautiful yes, but Terry was getting to see that she could be hard to live with.

"She's a hard person to love sometimes, that's all." He looked up at Terry and smiled. "Don't worry so much. Let's go find this guy."

Terry looked away, thinking. He'd just seen Christie recently at a party less than a week before. She'd stayed by Jimmy's side for a half hour, then found another cop's wife and disappeared, probably to disparage their lot in life. Jimmy'd watched them from the bar for a while, had a few more drinks than usual. Terry'd caught him glaring at Christie once or twice. Then, amazingly, he got over it.

"Who was that girl you were talking to at the party the other night?"

"Who? Oh, Anne Donnelly? She works at the 25."

"You're not…?"

"No!" Jim laughed. "It was just nice to be able to talk to a woman for once. One-on-one, equal footing." He pushed through the crowd. "Do you and your wife talk?"

"Yeah." Terry ducked his head and lowered his voice. "You're lucky Christie didn't see you."

"There was nothing to see."

"Maybe you were too drunk to remember. You were all over her, flirting…"

"Terry, you're really not a very good detective. See, my wife, if she so much as catches a whiff of another woman around me, she freaks out. And she never even mentioned it."

"Just be careful, Jimmy."

Jimmy turned suddenly and strode up into the stands. "Come on!" He turned back and laughed at Terry still standing there on the floor. Terry ran up after him. "Let's catch a free fight while we're here; it's too crowded to work right now." He plopped down on one of the benches and Terry slid in next to him. "You worry too much."

"I just—"

"You worry." Jimmy looked him over with a smile. "I know you too well, Terry. You can't put anything past me."

"Yeah, I worry," Terry said glumly. Of course he worried about Jimmy, and about Annie, the two people he respected most in his life.

"See, what'd I tell you?" Jimmy looked out over the sea of heads down to the fighters. He had a smile on his face as he surveyed the arena, and a little bit of envy. "Look at all this." He shook his head. "I'd love to get down there right now and just pop one of those guys in the head."

"They aren't boxers, Jimmy. They're experts in martial arts. Totally different."

"I know. I think I could hold my own, though. I doubt any of them could take a punch." Jimmy held out his fist. "They're good, though." They watched the people getting flipped, kicked, thrown around the floor. Jimmy didn't stop smiling as he watched. "I should have taken up karate, too," he said wistfully. "I can throw a perp, but I don't have this finesse."

"That's the last thing we need," Terry said with a groan. "Jimmy Dunbar street fighting like Jet Li."


	6. Chapter 6

**Chapter Six**

Terry decided he needed to take the long way through the park, clear his head. He always felt strange leaving LeFrak City, like he wasn't himself. The shrink kept telling him maybe he hadn't been himself in a long time. But then, who was he?

Jimmy.

That was the last person Terry had expected to see out that way. Jimmy and the dog. The dog walked over to a bench, Jimmy stretched out his hand, touched the bench seat, then sat, stretching, ordering the dog to sit. He pulled off his sunglasses, let his arms rest across the back of the bench, leaned his head back and looked up at the trees.

Terry shivered. Jimmy couldn't look up at the trees. Jimmy wouldn't even know he was there—unless— Terry stopped walking, suddenly afraid his old partner would recognize his footsteps. Not that Jimmy was likely to call out to him if he did; their partnership, their friendship, was long gone. Terry just didn't want Jimmy wondering what he was doing there. The city sometimes felt like it wasn't big enough to hold Terry and all his mistakes, keep him safe from the people who had cared about him and would try to keep him honest.

That's all Jimmy'd ever wanted from him, honesty. If he'd been shot, that would have been fine, if only Terry hadn't frozen, hadn't tried to make himself feel better by lying to himself and everyone else.

Seeing him like that, it wasn't the same Jimmy, not by a long shot. Quiet, calm, sitting in the park with his dog like he didn't have anything better to do with his time.

"Jimmy." His voice cracked as he called out, but he made himself walk over, slowly, one foot in front of the other.

Jimmy looked up, his lips parted in surprise, then Terry saw his jaw muscles clench.

"I just didn't think it was fair to, you know, walk by without saying anything."

Jim nodded, but didn't say anything. He'd looked away when Terry'd said the word fair.

"I, uh, they're having me see a shrink in LeFrak."

He nodded again.

"Come on, say something."

"Like what?"

Terry sighed. "I don't know. Maybe, leave me alone, don't ever talk to me again?"

Jimmy leaned forward, elbows on his knees. "Terry, I… don't know you anymore. We're not partners now. We're not friends."

"You're still Mickey's godfather."

"And that makes you and me what? Still nothing."

"I won't ask you to forgive me, Jimmy. Or to forget. I just saw you here… I couldn't walk past."

Jimmy's eyes pierced him a second before he turned his head down. "Neither of us are the same people, Terry."

Terry nodded, then realized Jimmy couldn't see that. "How'd you manage to figure it all out?"

"I didn't have a choice."

"Like I did?" Terry turned away.

"I'm not saying it should have been easy for you," Jimmy said slowly.

"But if it had been you, you never would have frozen, and if you'd screwed up, you just would have moved on?"

Jimmy shook his head.

"You were never perfect, either. You just didn't screw up on the job."

"What do you want from me, Terry? You want advice on how to move on with your life? Is that it?" Jimmy stood up and walked away from the bench, leaving his guide dog sitting there, watching him, muscles taught to run and help. "What happened, Terry? You once told me, if I needed to know what would make a man shoot himself…" He shook his head, put his hands in his pockets, closed his eyes a second. "After I found out I'd lost my sight, believe me, I would have killed myself if I'd had a chance, if I could have figured out how to do it." He turned back briefly, his eyes looking over Terry's left shoulder. "But that's not exactly what you were doing. So what?"

Terry sighed, watching Jimmy standing there with his back turned, looking over the jogging path. "That's what I've been talking to that shrink about."

"Because I got shot?"

"Not just that. Why I froze… When I saw that guy with the mask, when I saw… that officer get shot because of me, Jimmy. I didn't even know his name, but he trusted me. I told him it would be okay to run. And then, seeing you lying there, bleeding to death. Seeing you now…"

Jimmy shook his head and turned back. "Terry, forget what happened to me. It might have happened anyway—"

"Why'd you have to leave your cover, huh? Why'd you have to come out and—"

"What'd you want me to do? If I hadn't, he probably would have shot us all. Maybe would have gotten away and he'd still be out there today, robbing banks and killing whoever he feels like."

"Maybe if you'd stayed, maybe I woulda—maybe I only needed another second. Get myself together."

Jimmy shook his head. "Another second? How many seconds did it take you to come up with that scheme on the roof, huh? You couldn't have thought that through a little better?" Jimmy was suddenly in his face with a pained look as he faced Terry, brows knitted, lips pressed together. "What the hell?"

"Jimmy, I—" He cut himself short. Silence.

Jimmy shook his head. Then he nodded and shrugged, turned his head away, though he was still less than a foot from Terry. Terry couldn't read the expression. "What went wrong?" Jimmy finally asked, not looking up.

Terry turned his own head away, but didn't dare move and break the contact. "I don't know what went wrong. I saw the guy get shot… Then everything went wrong. You got shot and it was my fault."

"You were there; _that_ was my fault." Jimmy paced away, his face getting red with anger.

"It's not your fault you trusted me!"

"Oh yeah?" He spun back. "How? You were my partner."

"I didn't have your back."

"_I_ should have known."

"Jimmy, _I_ didn't know. How could we? It happened."

"I know." He lowered his head. "I know."

Terry paced away again, walking further this time, contemplating just walking on forever, leaving Jimmy standing there. He glanced back, saw Jimmy watching him walk away, his mouth half opened as if to speak.

"Terry," Jimmy said, holding out a hand.

Terry stopped walking.

"Maybe I forgave you for the bank. But you went back on the job! Putting other people at risk, knowing you can't handle—" Jimmy cut himself off. He looked away. "That's why you got partnered with Glenn, isn't it? It wasn't 'cause no one would partner with _him_."

"Jimmy."

He shook his head. "That was your second chance. I'm not saying you didn't deserve one, but you blew it! Why? What'd you shoot yourself for? You wanted to be a hero, to prove that you could handle getting shot like I did? Is that it?"

Terry felt himself shrinking under Jim's gaze. He looked into the wide blue eyes and shuddered. "I don't know what I was thinking. Guilt because you got shot? Because you wouldn't talk to me? We were friends, Jimmy!"

"So what?"

"A friend can't make a mistake?" Terry shut his own eyes, felt suddenly light-headed in the darkness, but he wouldn't open them. He forced himself to think back to that day, practically partnered back up with Jimmy while they went to lean on some gang members about a homicide. Back with Jimmy, his old friend. They hadn't spent any time together in over a year. Awkward didn't even begin to cover it, the guilt had been swallowing him up as he looked at his friend, being led around by a dog and a girl, relying on people. Jimmy'd never had to rely on anyone before.

Except at the bank.

Terry's stomach turned as the two events meshed in his head, showing him pictures of gunmen firing, perps running. Knowing Jimmy couldn't run after a perp anymore. He ran after Titus Oliver to the roof, found the gun was in the stairwell. Jimmy wouldn't talk to him, didn't acknowledge they'd ever been friends or partners, knew he couldn't rely on Terry to back him up. He'd been asking questions like the old Jimmy, been offended by Glenn's comment that he'd be useless at a crime scene. Terry hadn't been able to imagine all the heads Jimmy butted against coming back to work, all the people who thought like Glenn. What did they know? They hadn't been his partner. Terry knew Jimmy could do that job, with or without sight, better than himself even. So he'd run up on the roof with Titus' gun. The kid was already across the roof, jumping. There was no way Terry'd catch him, he'd messed up again. In front of Jimmy, he'd lost the perp. He'd lost his friend. He could barely do his job anymore, no one wanted to be his partner. He'd looked at Titus' gun—maybe if the slug didn't come from his own gun, maybe Annie'd still get his insurance money. He could shoot himself with Titus' gun and he wouldn't have to worry anymore. Everyone would think Titus did it, so Annie wouldn't have any problems about a suicide. He'd raised the gun.

Jimmy'd know what happened. He was just down on the street. Somehow, he'd know Terry wanted to die.

He raised his own gun and shot after Titus. Maybe they'd think he'd at least tried, not just stopped pursuit and given up.

He raised Titus' gun again, to his head. Pulled out his handkerchief, lowered the gun, shot himself in the shoulder.

He didn't know why he'd done it. Maybe because Jimmy was down there and he'd run up and he'd talk to Terry, finally accept the apology. Maybe because he really wanted to kill himself, but couldn't put the gun to his head and that was the closest he could get. Why had he lowered the gun? Because Jimmy'd been shot in the head? Too coincidental for ex-partners to both be shot that way? Jimmy'd been lucky and lived, but at that close of range, Terry surely would've died from a shot to the head. Maybe he'd wanted to prove—he could get shot, too? Even it out? No, that wasn't right. He wasn't trying to prove anything, hoped the press wouldn't get a hold of the story because he was a terrible liar. But he'd just shot himself! Maybe he thought, for his own sake, he could feel Jimmy's pain, just a little. Maybe if he hurt himself enough, he'd be able to just stay in the squad, would have a reason to not go out on the street. He didn't know anymore why he'd done it. It had shocked him up on the roof, suddenly finding himself bleeding from the shoulder. Everything he'd been thinking, gone. And he had to tell them something. Some guy shot me sounded a lot better than what actually happened.

"Jimmy… Have you ever done something you couldn't explain, but you just had to do it?"

"You _had_ to shoot yourself?"

Jimmy'd given up even trying to look at him, his gaze blank, facing the bench. Terry looked down on the dog, watching them. The dog had a reproachful look and Terry turned away.

"I don't know!" Terry slumped on the bench.

"I can't help you this time, Terry. I can't make everything go away."

"I know."

Jimmy fixed his gaze so he was looking closer at Terry.

"I made a mistake, I gotta learn to live with it, right?"

Jimmy sat on the bench next to him, staring straight ahead. "Just don't go shooting yourself this time, okay?" He glanced over with a small smile. He gestured away. "Good luck."

Terry stood. "You keep pushing me away." He didn't like the hurt tone in his voice, but he couldn't hide it.

"Everything changed, Terry. What more do you want?" Jimmy shut his eyes, took a deep breath. "I'm here if you need me. Other than that…" He shrugged, shook his head.

Terry nodded. "You can't forgive me."

"No. I can't."

Terry started away.

"I tried."

He stopped but didn't turn.

"We can't go back to what we had just 'cause you feel guilty. It won't make you feel any better. Penance doesn't work, Terry." Jimmy stood up, tapped his thigh. The dog jumped up into place. "Forward." They walked off.


	7. Epilogue

**Epilogue**

Jim's eyes flew open. He lay there a moment, disoriented by the pictures that had been flying through his dreams, then the sudden awakening.

"_I froze."_

Jim bit his lip.

"_I could have saved Middleton."_

Then it got worse.

"_I shot Middleton."_

Jim sat up quickly and threw his legs over the side of the bed. He just wanted to get away.

He hadn't thought of Greg Hermanson in a while, so why now?

Terry. Seeing Terry again last night outside of LeFrak.

_Terry froze. He could have saved me. He should have saved me. He didn't pull the trigger himself, but he may as well have._

Jim leaned forward, his elbows on his knees, hands clasped. He'd given absolution to Greg. Told him it wasn't his fault.

Why was it so different with Terry?

Greg had been hurting. The guilt had been slowly killing him. Jim told him to let it go.

It must have been the same with Terry, but Jim couldn't forgive him. Why? Because it was him? Because he never should have let it happen?

How wrong was that? It was one thing to tell someone it was all okay when he really wasn't involved—cop instinct, he guessed. But when it came down to his own life, he was an unforgiving bastard. With Terry. With his wife.

"Jimmy?" Christie mumbled from her side of the bed.

Jim got up and walked out of the bedroom, closing the door behind him. He had no idea what time it was, but he sat on the edge of the couch, staring out toward the window.

He couldn't see. How could he forgive that?

Was it really Terry's fault?

What if Terry had frozen and Jim hadn't been shot? Or what if he had been shot, but everything was okay? Would he have forgiven Terry then?

He never would have been able to trust him again.

He would have gone to the lieutenant and requested Terry be put on light duty for failure to perform his duties. Maybe they would have decided Terry needed counseling to see if he could ever come back.

But he had been shot. The decisions about Terry had all taken place while Jim was still unconscious and couldn't tell anyone what had happened that day. Even if he had told anyone, they probably would have just thought he was bitter, looking for someone to blame so he wouldn't have to blame himself.

"_I froze."_

"_You can't keep beating yourself up about this."_

It was too late for Terry. While Greg had been looking for forgiveness, Terry had shot himself. Jim couldn't forgive him for that, too, for framing an innocent kid just to make himself feel better.

"_Middleton's widow, and his family? They buried him a long time ago."_

Is that what he'd been trying to get Terry to do, to just leave him alone to heal?

Terry had been hurting. He'd been looking for forgiveness.

Jim wouldn't even talk to him. He'd talked to Greg because he'd been on the periphery of the situation. But Terry? He hadn't been ready to talk, to forgive him.

What if Terry hadn't shot himself that day? What if a couple years had passed, giving Jim enough time to feel like he was getting his life back?

He wasn't dead, like Middleton.

Would Middleton have forgiven Greg, had he lived?

There'd been a lot of casualties. They'd all known, just being over there, that any moment could be their last.

Terry hadn't shot himself. He'd just frozen.

And he'd known, at the bank, watching cops being shot, known just being a cop, it was dangerous. Any moment could have been his last.

He'd lived.

Maybe he was still pissed that he hadn't died.

Sure, he was getting his life back in order, but it wasn't the same. He was accepting it all, slowly… But still looking for someone to blame?

"_What happened, happened."_

He'd said that to the guys at his new squad after an undercover operation went bad. Would he have been able to keep to those words if they hadn't found Hank? Or if he'd taken more than the butt of a gun to the belly?

If he'd died, or been shot…?

It was Terry's mistake, the bank, the roof.

So why couldn't he forgive him?

Jim shook his head and lay back on the couch, staring at the ceiling. Problem was, he had to imagine the ceiling was even there.

He'd lost so much. He'd never let anyone know how it affected him. Christie sort of knew. Terry might know; they'd been partners for three years. Terry would definitely know. He'd been at the bank. He'd seen Jim on the job, before and since. He would know Jim wasn't the same.

Jim wasn't sure either of them could handle that. He was saving them both from that.

That's why he couldn't forgive Terry.


End file.
